


And When I Turn Around, You're There

by carryaworld



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi has Doubts, Hinata is chaos incarnate, M/M, Minor Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Minor Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Post-Canon, This is pure fluff, absolutely nothing but marshmellows and sunshine, but Kuroo sets him straight, manga ending spoilers, minor Sakusa Kiyoomi/Miya Atsumu, no beta we die like daichi, oops almost forgot, soft little instances leading up to them getting together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26556229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryaworld/pseuds/carryaworld
Summary: Akaashi has been in love with Bokuto Koutarou since high school, but confessing is another story. He finds himself delaying and doubting, even despite encouragement from Kuroo and Kenma. In the end, however, Bokuto knows him better than anyone else. That's the setter-ace trust, after all.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 30
Kudos: 173





	And When I Turn Around, You're There

**Author's Note:**

> It's midnight and I just barely missed Bokuto's birthday but I tried yo 😭 happy birthday my sweet boy. it's been a hot second hq fandom, but I'm back with some serious softness! please be aware that this does contain manga spoilers if you are an anime-only. not too many but uh, enough lmao.

Losing at Nationals his second year tells Akaashi everything he needs to know: volleyball is something he loves deeply. And yet, he knows that playing after high school is not something he is working towards.

Getting to play this year with Bokuto was enough. More than enough, really, even though they lost. Third year will be different without him; Akaashi can already feel the impending absence. 

“I’m going to learn to stand on my own,” Bokuto says, tipping his head back to gaze at the stars.

They’re the last ones to leave the club room, even the other third years have finally trickled out after a teary exchange. The tone—at least coming from Bokuto—is subdued, carrying a different kind of vigor. 

Akaashi has already seen the beginnings of this change. Bokuto is getting stronger, and will keep doing so. He won’t need to lean on Akaashi, which is good because he’ll be playing on a new team, and bad because Akaashi wants to support him always. 

He’s selfish like that. 

“I’m going to be the kind of ace everyone can depend on.” 

Akaashi looks up too then, a pleased smile curling on his lips. “I know you will, Bokuto-san.” 

“Will you watch me?” 

There’s a pause, where all the things Akaashi wants to say tangle up in his throat.  _ Always. How could I not?  _

“Of course, Bokuto-san,” is what he says.  _ Of course. _

The mood shifts then, and Bokuto babbles happily as he walks with Akaashi along the same circuitous route home they’ve taken for months. There are at least three short cuts Akaashi knows of that would get him home faster, but he savors this extra time with Bokuto. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto snags his jacket sleeve as Akaashi turns away out of habit at the last intersection before his house.

“Hm?” Akaashi looks back, unsurprised by the needy gesture but caught by the way Bokuto’s eyes glint under the street lamps.

“I’m still going to see you, right?” Bokuto asks. 

It’s so painfully vulnerable that Akaashi wants to hug him. He won’t, because even though his crush on Bokuto is a mile wide and ten times as obvious, now isn’t the time. 

Not when Bokuto is moving on to bigger things and Akaashi has one year of high school left. Akaashi is nothing if not patient—and this is worth waiting for. 

“You will,” Akaashi promises sincerely. “We’re friends, Bokuto-san. Besides, you still have to go to school until graduation.” 

“Oh! Yeah…” Bokuto laughs sheepishly. “Right.”

Akaashi snorts, gently bumping his shoulder against Bokuto’s. “You should get some rest, I’ll see you Monday.”

“Fineeeeee,” Bokuto whines playfully. “Goodnight, ‘Kaashi.” 

“Goodnight Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, and turns toward home. 

He must be imagining things because it feels like Bokuto’s eyes follow him till he’s out of sight. 

*

“I don’t know where to start at becoming a better ace,” Bokuto admits, hanging around the gym after practice even though Akaashi is captain now and Bokuto’s graduation is less than a week away. 

Akaashi thinks of the list he’s been compiling for two years, weighing it against the fortitude Bokuto has built for himself. Once, a list of his weaknesses might have broken Bokuto. It still might, truthfully, but maybe this is where he starts.

“I might have a few thoughts,” Akaashi admits, lifting an eyebrow. “But you can’t be mad because you asked.” 

He only regrets sharing it a little when Bokuto starts wailing. 

“Kaaashi! You have a whole list of my weaknesses? There are so many!” he howls. 

Akaashi tilts his head. “You wanted somewhere to begin. I wouldn’t have shown you if I didn’t think you could overcome them.”

“You’ve really thought that hard about it? About me?” Bokuto’s tone has reached a grating pitch—far too self-pitying and certainly not warranted. 

“I came to Fukurodani because I wanted to play with you,” Akaashi says simply. 

That stops the whining for one whole blessed second. Bokuto looks as if Akaashi has smacked him right between the eyes, and it’s immensely satisfying. 

“Bokuto-san?” he says neutrally, knowing that this is the moment where things will tip either way. 

Bokuto is capable—he’s never truly  _ needed _ Akaashi—but Akaashi likes to think that at the very least, he’s helped bring out the best in Bokuto. If he can give Bokuto this one last boost… 

“I’ll do it,” Bokuto says, puffing his chest up. “I’m going to go get started right now!”

“Go be a star, Bokuto,” Akaashi murmurs, watching the familiar broad shoulders walk away from him. The back of an ace.

There’s a bounce in his step, and Akaashi knows with all the certainty in the world that he’s going to do it. Bokuto will only get brighter from here. 

*

Keeping up with each other when they’re hours apart and with conflicting schedules is equal parts impossible and overly simple. 

Simple, in that in some ways things don’t change. Bokuto texts incessantly, which is no different than when he saw Akaashi every day. Whether it’s memes, cute animals, or something he saw that he thought Akaashi might like, he sends them without hesitation. 

It’s sweet and annoying in the same breath, but Akaashi makes time at least once a day to respond to the influx of texts. If he doesn’t, Bokuto thinks he’s upset with him. 

Correcting that once was enough of a headache, because dealing with a Bokuto who’s dejected for non-volleyball reasons is harder than he had thought it’d be. 

The true challenge is actually seeing each other. Bokuto has to work his way up to get a place on one of the league teams, so he’s constantly training. 

Akaashi is also training and captaining the Fukurodani team on top of it, so overlapping free time is almost non-existent. But Bokuto makes time to see them play in the inter-highs—giving Akaashi the best hug of his life afterwards even though they lose. 

Things change again then, when Akaashi moves for college and has to adapt to a whole new routine while Bokuto gains traction in the professional volleyball world. Removing volleyball from Akaashi’s schedule barely helps. 

Even though he’s done playing now, Akaashi still finds himself constantly busy. 

“I miss you,” Bokuto confesses over the phone, his voice hushed in the heavier silence of the night.

It’s late. Akaashi has a paper due tomorrow, but he stayed long enough at Bokuto’s game today to lean over the barrier and get a hug before he had to run. Bokuto was disappointed he couldn’t stay, and this phone call is a compromise. 

Akaashi’s laptop is open, cursor blinking ominously. It’s going to be a long night without a doubt, but he always finds himself reluctant to hang up when he’s talking to Bokuto. 

“I miss you too,” he sighs. 

Admitting it is far too easy, even when he can hear the sharp intake of breath on Bokuto’s end of the line. It shouldn’t be a surprise that Akaashi cares. That he misses Bokuto. 

Really, he should suck it up and tell Bokuto how he feels. They’re not in high school anymore, after all. But every time he tries to find the words, they slip through his fingers. 

Akaashi wants to make words his life, and yet they continue to fail him. The irony is not lost on him, though Kenma finds it amusing to point it out every time he bothers to vent to his friend. Bokuto deserves his very best, so Akaashi keeps waiting for the right moment to tell him. Years are passing and he’s still waiting. In truth, it’s nothing more than a convenient excuse for his cowardice and he knows it. 

“Kaashi?” Bokuto’s soft whine crackles through the phone. 

Akaashi forces himself to type a whopping eight words—barely a sentence—before he responds. “You travel next week, don’t you?” 

“Yep!” 

Another two sentences make it into the document while Akaashi tries to remember if he has anything due soon. Other than this godforsaken paper, that is. 

He thinks the answer is no. Or, at least, he’s fairly confident it is. 

“How about I come see you this weekend?” he offers. 

Bokuto howls a delighted, “KAASHI!” in his ear. It’ll take some juggling, and his ear will be ringing for the rest of the all nighter he’s about to pull, but it’s worth it. Bokuto is extraordinarily earnest in his reactions, and it’s something Akaashi has always loved about him. 

Among a multitude of other things, of course. 

Akaashi still has his list of Bokuto’s weaknesses, though it’s dwindling more and more as Bokuto grows as a player. As he overcomes each one, Akaashi crosses them off the list with a smile on his face. Bokuto is amazing. 

There might come a day when the list ceases to exist at all. Akaashi can’t wait to see it. 

“I need to work on my paper, Bokuto-san,” he says at last, and regrets it when Bokuto heaves a sigh. 

His tone is bright, however, when he answers. “Do your best, Akaashi!” 

“I will,” Akaashi promises. “Goodnight, Bokuto-san.” 

“Night Akaashi!”

*

“You’re friends with Bokuto Koutarou?!” his neighbor hisses in surprise. 

Akaashi normally doesn’t have a problem with his hallmates—most of them are also university students. Konoha is a pretty decent flatmate, and he certainly doesn’t freak out when Bokuto inevitably drops by to visit. 

Honestly, half the time it feels as if the majority of Fukurodani’s former team is there.

“We went to high school together,” he says neutrally as Bokuto practically bounces down the hallway toward them. 

  
“Akaashi!” Bokuto beams, and Akaashi thinks his neighbor might actually be having a stroke. It’s fine, most of the neighbors adjust to the sheer amount of talent that parades through here eventually. 

Konoha pokes his head out the door with a scowl. “Volume, Bokuto-kun.” 

“Konoha-san!” Bokuto takes his volume down a notch, which is fortunate because he’s caught Akaashi in a hug by that point and Akaashi values his hearing. “Have you been watching out for Akaashi?”

Konoha’s eyebrow takes an unimpressed journey up his forehead. “Bold of you to assume Akaashi isn’t the one watching out for me. He’s the responsible one.”

“Yeah, but ‘Kaashi works too hard,” Bokuto disagrees. 

Akaashi has heard at least six variations of this conversation and finds it more interesting to watch his neighbor turn varying shades of the rainbow 

“Isn’t that why you’re here? To make him relax?” Konoha retreats into the apartment. “Come inside and stop making a scene.” 

The neighbor is still staring. Bokuto is only rising in fame right now, Akaashi can only wonder what would happen if people knew he knows Kodzken. Kenma is more famous than any of them ever will be. 

“I am definitely gonna get ‘Kaashi to relax,” Bokuto beams, bringing Akaashi along in his wake. The apartment door closes behind them, leaving curious neighbors behind. 

“I still have homework, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi reminds him. 

That earns a pronounced pout, one that Akaashi suspects is more to get his way than genuine sadness. Bokuto knows how hard he works, and not once has he begrudged Akaashi’s own dream. 

Konoha snorts. “I’ll be in my room if you need me, we can order takeout later.” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, but that’s Konoha for you. He and Akaashi have worked out how to live together without issue, so there’s rarely any conflict between them beyond whose turn it is to do the dishes. 

Akaashi heads for his own room, Bokuto trailing along behind. “You can watch Naruto while I work.” 

“Yes!” Bokuto does an overdramatic fist bump and dives head-first onto Akaashi’s bed. 

It’s a weird routine that they’ve developed, but one that Akaashi is ridiculously fond of. University keeps him busy, which means that sometimes he can’t always carve out a full day to just spend time with Bokuto. 

So Bokuto watches Naruto while Akaashi works, eyes glued to the screen with half his body sprawled across Akaashi’s legs. Sometimes Akaashi catches himself playing with Bokuto’s hair while he reads extremely dry literature with his nose scrunched up in distaste. 

Bokuto never complains, so he never stops. Konoha says nothing when he sees them on occasion but it increases the number of significant looks he sends Akaashi. Akaashi pretends he doesn’t notice, and Konoha’s desire for minimal bullshit means that he never sticks his nose in any farther than that.

Akaashi frowns at his computer screen and forces himself to concentrate. Now isn’t the time to brood if he actually wants to have time to spend properly with Bokuto. 

A gentle thumb presses between his eyebrows, smoothing out the wrinkles with impossible tenderness. Akaashi stills, his breath stuck in his throat. 

“Don’t stress, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto’s voice is like the steady call of the ocean, drowning out the static. “You’ll do fine.” 

Bokuto is far smarter than a lot of people give him credit for, and Akaashi is often reminded of that in quiet moments like these. It’s too easy to let himself lean into the solid bulk of Bokuto’s shoulder. 

“It’s hard,” Akaashi admits quietly. School is hard. Making time to see Bokuto is harder. Dragging himself out of the spiraling depths of his own mind is the hardest. 

Bokuto sets the tablet aside and slides his arm around Akaashi’s shoulders. When he even paused Naruto, Akaashi isn’t sure. Seconds ago? Minutes? 

He’s selfishly glad, basking in the warmth of Bokuto’s embrace. Bokuto’s cheek rests against the top of Akaashi’s head and it’s nothing short of heavenly. 

Akaashi takes measured breaths until the unwanted thoughts settle to a tolerable murmur. They’re easier to deal with when Bokuto is here, an immovable presence at his side. Even off the court he has the bearing of an ace—steady and dependable. 

“Okay?” Bokuto asks, squeezing Akaashi’s bicep gently. 

“Yeah,” Akaashi sighs. “It’s better when you’re here.” 

He doesn’t dare look up to see what Bokuto’s expression is in response to that, so he misses Bokuto’s face turning a brilliant shade of red. 

“Can I read along with you?” 

Akaashi makes a face. “It’s extremely boring, Bokuto-san. I don’t even like it.” 

Bokuto makes a thoughtful noise that reverberates through Akaashi’s entire being. “Well then we just have to make it fun.” 

It’s not the worst idea. Akaashi isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure reading the rest of this work, much less write a paper on it, at the rate he’s going. 

“Okay.” 

Bokuto grins. “Sweet! Catch me up to where you are?” 

Akaashi has to admit, it isn’t nearly as dry to retell the important bits to Bokuto, and the rest of it isn’t so bad either with Bokuto’s input. He’s surprisingly thoughtful and occasionally hilarious, the sound of his voice washing away Akaashi’s earlier minor breakdown. 

Unsurprisingly, Akaashi is smitten. It’s Bokuto after all. 

*

Life after college is everything Akaashi expected and everything he didn’t.

His job is not his dream job, but he’s working with someone who has just as much love for volleyball and that’s okay. The original Little Giant is interesting for his own reasons. 

Tenma Udai is nothing like Akaashi would have expected from the person who inspired Hinata Shouyou. He’s quiet and unassuming—the complete opposite of his orange counterpart. Not that Hinata is truly after the title anymore. That’s left to Hoshiumi Korai.

The only similarity between them as far as Akaashi can tell are their disturbingly intense work ethics. But Tenma is nice to talk to, and it means there’s always someone close by that’s willing to watch volleyball with Akaashi. 

  
“Bokuto-san’s playing tonight?” he asks fondly, having caught Akaashi eyeing the clock one too many times. 

He can’t make Bokuto’s games in person as much as he’d like, but he still makes the time to watch them on TV. Tenma teases him less than his close friends do, and Akaashi finds himself being more open because of it. 

“Yeah, he’s been doing really well with the Black Jackals,” Akaashi says. 

“I’m sure he has,” Tenma says gamely. “Go ahead and go, Akaashi-san. I’ll scan these drafts to you when I’m done.”

“Thanks Tenma-san,” Akaashi says, and means it. 

Editing Tenma’s manga may not be what he saw himself doing, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. Tenma is a brilliant writer in his own right, and nice to work with even if deadlines are sometimes dicey. Akaashi grabs his coat and makes a swift exit. 

Kenma is feigning indifference, as usual, when Akaashi lets himself into his friend’s apartment. “Do we have to watch tonight?” he complains. 

Akaashi snorts and sets the ongiri on the counter. “Do whatever you want, but I’m watching. Where is Kuroo-san?”

“At work, where else?” Kenma fails at hiding his disgruntlement under his indifferent tone. 

Kenma pretends that he dislikes being showered in attention by Kuroo, but he’s extra grouchy when Kuroo pulls long hours at work. Honestly, it’s hypocritical. Kenma spends just as much time streaming, and their combined net worth makes Akaashi sweat on a good day. 

Akaashi stuffs an onigiri in his mouth and tugs lightly on the ends of Kenma’s hair. “Have you eaten yet?”

The stare he gets could peel paint. That figures. Kenma is as bad as Akaashi can be about his eating habits. Akaashi’s are bad because he often doesn’t have time to cook, but Kenma just can’t be bothered. 

Every time Kuroo harps on him to eat his vegetables, Akaashi flashes back to high school. 

Akaashi shoves an onigiri into Kenma’s hand and takes another to the couch with him. If Kenma wants to listen to one of Kuroo’s lectures, that’s his problem. 

The pregame discussions have already begun by the time Akaashi clicks the TV on. Kenma reluctantly leaves his gaming set up and crawls up beside him, his nintendo switch in hand. He’ll play right up until the game starts, and then he’s just as invested as Akaashi is. 

“Shouyou wants to try out with them,” Kenma says as the Black Jackal’s lineup gets introduced. 

Akaashi hums. “He’s coming back from Brazil?”

Hinata isn’t his close friend, but Bokuto treats him like a kouhai and Kenma is good friends with him, so they’re somewhere between acquaintances and friends. 

Kenma hums in assent. “Soon. Tryouts are at the end of the season and it won’t be long now.” 

It’s Bokuto’s first full season with the Black Jackals, but Akaashi thinks he intends to stay there for a while. Miya Atsumu has a repugnant personality but he sets well for Bokuto and the team is cohesive. Adding Hinata to that mix would be interesting. Especially with Kageyama dominating with the Adlers. 

“Honey, I’m hoooooome,” Kuroo crows as he whips the front door open. 

Kenma doesn’t even look up from his game. 

“Kuroo-san,” Akaashi greets the disappointed figure. 

“I told you to quit it with the honorifics,” Kuroo complains at Akaashi. “And Kenma, you’re not even going to say hello?”

“You’re late.”

Kuroo staggers as if Kenma has dealt him a physical blow. “No love in this house! Akaashi, you’re going to let him be mean to me like this?” 

Akaashi shrugs. He uses the honorifics sheerly to annoy Kuroo, so who is he to get involved in their lovers’ spat? Besides, Kuroo needs to be taken down a few notches every once in a while. 

“I’m telling Bo you’re mean to me,” Kuroo huffs, flinging himself down on the couch as the teams line up on either end of the court. 

“Like he’s going to argue with Keiji,” Kenma is far too smug considering Akaashi’s non-existent love life is being weaponized. 

“The game is starting,” Akaashi interrupts.  _ Thank god _ . 

He’s fond of Kuroo and Kenma, but third-wheeling their… interesting… relationship dynamics can be a lot sometimes. Akaashi’s not sure what is worse: the bickering, or when they’re soft with each other. Both options leave him feeling painfully single. 

It’s like a switch in the room has been flipped—it’s volleyball time. “Ooooh Bo is looking in fine form,” Kuroo says appreciatively. 

The face Kenma makes when Miya Atsumu steps up to serve is sour. 

“He really gives Kageyama a run for his money, doesn’t he,” Akaashi hums. “It’s scary.”

“Truly the monster generation,” Kuroo sighs happily. “And we got to play against most of them.”

Yes, yes they did. And Akaashi is grateful. 

*

It’s late. Akaashi should, by all rights, be in bed instead of working but that’s just how life goes. Deadlines are deadlines after all.

Being awake, however, does not endear to him whomever is knocking on his door at this hour. He yanks the door open and barely swallows down a snippy retort when he registers a very determined looking Bokuto on his doormat. 

“Bokuto-san? I didn’t know you guys were in Tokyo,” he says, stepping back to let him in. Akaashi would never deny Bokuto entry to his apartment, especially not with that face on. 

Bokuto stares at him, lips slightly parted, for long enough that Akaashi nervously tugs on the sleeves of his favorite sleep shirt. It’s one of Bokuto’s warm up shirts, left behind on accident and now one of Akaashi’s most prized articles of clothing. It’s soft and just a little too large—Akaashi is not giving it back.

It’s not that he doesn’t have others, rather the opposite is the issue.

The first jersey Akaashi bought as a good, supportive friend. Bokuto is famous enough to have merch—of course he’d buy a jersey to support him. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t stop at a single shirt. Kuroo and Kenma both bought him one as a joke, Kuroo feigning innocence and Kenma not even bothering. So did his former Fukorodoni teammates, and they presented it to him with matching smirks. 

It isn’t even limited to shirts as Bokuto’s fame continues to grow. There are banners and posters—all things which his friends find hilarious to buy for him—stashed away out of sight. 

Needless to say, Akaashi has a stupid number of shirts with Bokuto’s name on the back in huge, striking letters that Bokuto can’t know about. 

Bokuto is still staring.  _ Maybe Bokuto is mad he kept the warm up shirt?  _ Though that’s not very like Bokuto. 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi repeats. “Are you coming in or not?” 

Bokuto shuffles in then, slipping his shoes off and seemingly recovering from whatever weirdness had come over him when he sees Akaashi’s work piled on the couch. “Kuroo says you’re working too hard,” he frowns. 

Akaashi closes the door with an eye roll. “He’s one to talk.” 

At least he knows what this is about now. Every couple months, one of his friends takes issue with how much he works. It’s not that he  _ wants _ to pull these kinds of hours, but he has to make sure Tenma meets deadlines. 

“Well you can put it down for the night, it’s time for bed,” Bokuto says, his tone adopting a familiar stubbornness. 

“Let me finish what I was doing first,” Akaashi bargains. He’s going to lose this argument, but he might buy himself some time at least. 

“Nope, bedtime is now.” 

“Bokuto-san.” 

“Akaashi.” 

“You can’t make me,” Akaashi scowls.

Bokuto shrugs. “I think I can lift you, and I’d lay on you so you couldn’t come back out here to work.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

The challenge in his tone—something that used to at least make Bokuto falter—instead just makes him grin. It’s wide and full of far too much foolish energy for this time of night. 

Akaashi doesn’t stand a chance, he knows he doesn’t. He lunges forward anyway like he’s going to snag the prints hanging off the coffee table. Bokuto catches him around the waist, holding Akaashi tightly to his chest, and Akaashi leans into it instead of trying to get away. 

It’s dangerous. All of these moments are so dangerous—and yet somehow it already feels like they’ve gone far beyond friendship. In his gut, Akaashi knows this in the same way that he knows Bokuto will fall asleep beside him tonight, taking up way too much space in his bed. 

“Bed,” Bokuto says firmly, and Akaashi displays defeat by letting half his body weight slump against Bokuto like a dead fish. 

Of course, Bokuto is in the best shape of his life (god, high school Akaashi thought those shoulders couldn’t get any nicer and _ yet _ ) and isn’t fazed with having to tug Akaashi down the hall. Akaashi flops face first onto his mattress, turning just enough to keep Bokuto in his line of sight while he removes a few layers in preparation for bed. 

He’s seen it all before but he’ll keep looking until Bokuto tells him to stop. How he survives having this attractive man in his life all the time is a mystery. 

It’s only when Bokuto climbs in under the covers that Akaashi bothers to settle into his own spot, laying on his side facing Bokuto. Bokuto is softer in this light—his hair down from his post-practice shower and all of his energy muted. 

Bokuto scoots a little closer, stretching out a hand. Tentative, callused fingers stroke down the back of Akaashi’s neck, tickling the short hairs there and drawing a contented noise out of Akaashi’s throat. This isn’t in the realm of friend-gestures, but it’s something they do anyway. 

“Tell me how the team is,” Akaashi says, settling his head deeper into the pillow. 

“That’s not sleeping,” Bokuto protests, but his fingers slide into Akaashi’s hair and Akaashi knows he’s won. “Hinata-kun is doing well.” 

“Are you supposed to tell me he made the team before the official announcement goes out?” Akaashi teases, eyelids drooping from the soothing scrape of fingertips against his scalp. 

Bokuto freezes for a moment, then scoffs. “Kenma told you.” 

Akaashi laughs into the pillow. Bokuto has learned over the years that Akaashi and Kenma like to team up and be little shits together. It frustrates Kuroo too, which is an added bonus. Kuroo and Bokuto fool around all the time—it’s fair turnabout.

“Anyway,” Bokuto continues, long suffering. “He’s doing well. Tsum-Tsum has to work harder to keep up with him but he disturbingly likes it.” 

Miya Atsumu is not someone Akaashi can see willingly putting up with that nickname, but Bokuto is hard to derail once he latches onto something. He continues into another story then, something about Atsumu antagonizing Sakusa, and Akaashi falls asleep with a smile on his lips. 

In the morning, Bokuto shuffles off to an early team practice when Akaashi catches the train to work. It’s so domestic that Akaashi can hardly breathe. He wants this, so very badly. It’s his to reach out and take, and yet… yet. He still can’t. 

_ What is wrong with me?  _

*

In a fit of desperation, Akaashi invites Kuroo to lunch to figure out his not so small problem regarding his feelings for Bokuto.

“His brain short circuited,” Kuroo cackles. “Poor Bo couldn’t handle seeing you sleeping in a shirt with his name on it.” 

Akaashi somewhat regrets talking to him about this. Kuroo is brilliant at a lot of things, but his additional commentary is something Akaashi could do without. Kenma refused to listen to ‘any more of Akaashi’s nonsense,’ however, so he had no choice. 

“Kuroo-san.” 

Kuroo leans over his coffee and leers. “Yes, Akaashi-kun? 

“Please be serious for a moment, would you?”

Kuroo’s eyebrow forms a perfect arch. It’s ridiculous and unfair that he can manage that. Akaashi would kick him under the table if they weren’t in public. 

“I am being serious,” Kuroo says, more candid than sneering for once. “Bo worships the ground you walk on, what’s so unbelievable about that?” 

Akaashi stares at him. 

“It’s a good thing you’re not editing a shoujo manga,” Kuroo scoffs. “Although I think you might be as clueless as a shoujo main character.” 

“Kuroo-san,” Akaashi threatens. 

“What?” Kuroo sounds offended. “I’m right.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“Oh yes I am. Please, ask your former teammates and see what they say.” 

That gives Akaashi pause. Bokuto’s class at Fukurodani has remained close, and are kind enough to usually include Akaashi. They like to jest, but they wouldn’t outright lie to him. 

“If you’re messing with me…” Akaashi threatens.

Kuroo gives him an offended look as he takes a swig of his coffee. “Bo is my best friend, I want him to be happy, Akaashi.” 

“And you think he’d be happy with me?” 

“I  _ know _ he’d be happy with you,” Kuroo corrects. “I have insider information, after all.”

Akaashi stares balefully into his tea. That’s a lot to take in. It’s one thing to suspect… to hope. It’s another to have your dreams confirmed. 

Kuroo, the heathen, kicks him gently under the table. “He’s waited this long, Akaashi-kun. No need to rush now.” 

Breathing out, Akaashi wills the noise in his head to quiet. He’s not a teenager anymore. He’s a capable adult—someone who should properly deal with their feelings. 

“Akaashi,” Kuroo says kindly. 

“I’ll kill you,” Akaashi says half-heartedly. It’s nearly too much. 

Akaashi is not a character in a story—his happiness is not assured, nor is it laid out like destiny by caring hands. His happiness, his life, is whatever he makes of it. Like with volleyball, you can’t win a match if you give up before it even begins. 

To have a chance at a relationship with Bokuto, Akaashi has to first take a step. 

Kuroo pushes back from the table, reaching across to touch the knuckle of his index finger to Akaashi’s forehead. “You’ve got this champ. And as payment for my help, I’ll gladly accept giving the best-man speech in a few years.” 

“In your dreams,” Akaashi scoffs. 

That earns him a laugh and a jaunty wave. At least the asshole paid the bill—lord knows he has more money than Akaashi.

Kuroo is annoying at times, but he’s a good friend. Akaashi has plenty to think about now. 

*

Hinata’s first game with the Black Jackals—the opener against the Adlers—is one of the most intense that Akaashi has ever seen. 

This truly is the monster generation. Every single one of them is special in their own right—has found their own way to fight on the world stage. 

Bokuto’s broad grin practically screams  _ Look at me! Look how good I am now! _ As if Akaashi had ever been able to tear his eyes away. With every kill Bokuto lands, the smile on Akaashi’s face grows. 

  
Beside him, Tenma is leaning so far forward he’s liable to fall right out of his seat. It’s hard not to get caught up in that energy. 

For the first time in years, Akaashi wishes he was back on the court. Setting to Bokuto is no longer his place, however. Where Bokuto was once the stars, he has grown to encompass Akasshi’s entire world. 

Something to orbit, and a place to come home too. 

It’s a game that could go either way, but the Black Jackals clinch the win with a final,  _ beautiful _ , decoy by Hinata. This season is going to be a delight to watch. 

Tenma shakes himself out of his stupor as the teams shake hands and disperse to do their cool downs. “Ready?” he asks Akaashi. 

Is Akaashi ready to interview Bokuto? No, not really. He’d rather get an enthusiastic hug and call it a night, but work comes first. Akaashi suspects that he and Tenma got this assignment solely because Akaashi knows Bokuto. 

He’s an editor, not a reporter after all. But Bokuto is enthusiastic as he leans back in his chair, regarding Akaashi with those bright eyes. 

“Let’s be fast so we can go out to eat!” Bokuto beams, happily accepting the offered congratulations. 

Only Bokuto would think the way that he played today was normal. The irony of it makes Akaashi have to hold back disbelieving giggles. Bokuto’s understanding of normal must be in a different universe than Akaashi’s. 

Bokuto has never been normal or ordinary or run-of-the-mill. His moods were one thing, but now he’s just an incredible volleyball player. Calling how he played today normal would be an insult, but it’s what he wants to hear.

“It was extremely normal,” Akaashi smiles. “Good job Bokuto-san.”

Tenma slides him a look like he’s completely lost his mind, and maybe he has. But Akaashi thinks he understands, at least a little. 

Bokuto’s high school career was defined by his mood swings. He was considered odd because of it, even if his teammates were long accustomed to it. To Bokuto, to be normal means to not have those swings. 

Akaashi never thought less of Bokuto because of his moods, but Bokuto deserves the pride he feels at overcoming them. 

“How does it feel to play beside Hinata Shouyou, Bokuto-san? He’s quite an attention grabber, much like yourself,” Tenma interjects, his pencil at the ready. 

Bokuto laughs, and Akaashi hides a smile. “Isn’t he great? I taught him a thing or two in high school. It’s super fun to play on a court with someone like that.” 

“How about the rest of your team?” Akaashi asks with a playful hum. “Does Hinata-san outshine them all?” 

There’s a wicked glint in Bokuto’s eyes. “Well he’s not going to outshine me! And Omi-omi said I shouldn’t talk up Tsum-tsum because his head is already too big.” 

That’s… fair. 

“Miya-san sent you some good sets today,” Tenma points out. “And Sakusa-san is a power-house in his own right. Everyone was needed against the Adlers today.”

“Oh yeah,” Bokuto bobs his head. “Ushijima-san is a cannon, and Hoshuimi-san is also incredible as a spiker. Kageyama-san ruled the court, as usual.” 

The conversation derails into technicalities after that, interspersed with a few more questions directed specifically at Bokuto. 

“Thank you for your time, Bokuto-san,” Tenma stands first. “It was amazing to watch you play.” 

“It was nice meeting you Tenma-san, please continue caring for Akaashi!” 

That makes Tenma laugh. “It’s definitely the other way around, Bokuto-san. Have a good evening.” 

He flashes Akaashi a significant look on his way out that makes Akaashi roll his eyes. “Are you going out with the team for dinner, Bokuto-san?” 

Bokuto blinks at him. “You’re coming with, Akaashi.” 

It’s not a question. Akaashi fights the heat that threatens to tell tales on his face. “Is that okay?” 

A snort. “Of course it’s okay, ‘Kaashi. They know you’re with me. Besides, it’s gonna be like a reunion!”

_ They know you’re with me. _

All Akaashi can do is nod and let himself be pulled along in Bokuto’s wake. Dinner is a loud affair—though with Hinata and Kageyama at the same table, that was guaranteed. 

It’s not so much a MSBY dinner as it is a multi-high school reunion. The elder Black Jackals and Adlers had wisely found somewhere quieter to eat the moment they witnessed Hinata and Kageyama tackling each other at mid court. 

Akaashi doesn’t blame them—this is a rowdy group—though one he’s immensely fond of. 

Bokuto keeps him close the whole night, never more than an arm’s length away. Sometimes he has a hand in the pockets of Akaashi’s sweater, or a few fingers hooked into the sleeve. It’s a comfortable closeness, and no one comments on it. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto hums in Akaashi’s ear, two beers deep and surprisingly muted by the alcohol. 

“Yes, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi answers, amused. 

At the other end of the table, Tsukishima wears an expression of dead-faced irritation as Kageyama and Hinata suck face right beside him. Yamaguchi is gleefully videoing the scene, Ushijima is in some sort of weirdly deep conversation with Sawamura Daichi, and Sakusa is pretending to be furious about Atsumu sitting in his lap. 

“Can we go home?” 

For a moment, everything in the room fades to a dull roar in Akaashi’s ears.  _ Home _ . They’re in Tokyo, which means that home can only be the tiny apartment that Akaashi calls his own. 

_ Bokuto considers that home? _

“Is Meian-san going to worry if you don’t return to the hotel?”

Bokuto huffs indignantly into the side of Akaashi’s neck. “‘Course not, I told him already.” 

Akaashi has to set his beer down. Bokuto _ knew _ , when he set foot in Tokyo prior to this match, that he wanted to stay at Akaashi’s tonight. He planned ahead—notified his captain and made proper arrangements.

Heart occupying his throat, Akaashi allows himself the smallest of smiles. “Then let’s go home, Bokuto-san.” 

Taking the train is nicer with company, as is his nighttime routine. Bokuto has a toothbrush in the bathroom and spare clothes in a bottom drawer, so it’s easy. So easy. 

“You played really well today,” Akaashi murmurs, curled toward Bokuto in bed like one half of a set of brackets. 

Bokuto’s answering hum is sleepy and content. His hand fumbles around under the blankets until it finds Akaashi’s, callused fingers impossibly gentle as they tangle together. 

“Have to play my best if Akaashi is watching,” he mumbles, and is peacefully snoring seconds later while Akaashi is left with that bomb of a sentence. 

“What the fuck,” Akaashi mouths at the ceiling. And then, “I love him.” 

Akaashi is a fool. 

*

Akaashi is watching Tenma furiously draft the beginnings of a new project when he gets the call. He almost doesn’t take it, because Tenma is on a rant. Akaashi has become the sounding board for his ideas, which can range from fun to downright exhausting. 

But Tenma’s next manga is about volleyball, and Akaashi can already tell that it will own his heart as much as it already possesses Tenma’s. 

“This is Akaashi,” he answers curtly, ignoring the huge pout Tenma is giving him for interrupting. Tenma is a reasonable person right up until he misses out on too much sleep, which seems to be more often than not lately. 

“Akaashi-san, we were told to contact you—”

The person is abruptly cut off and there’s sounds of a scolding in the background while Akaashi waits impatiently. A new voice chimes in moments later.

“Hi Akaashi-senpai!” they chirp too brightly in his ear. “It’s Hinata. Bokuto-senpai isn’t feeling well but he’s being stubborn about going home, so we were hoping you’d come get him.”

Akaashi’s irritation evaporates. It’s hard not to be flattered when someone as talented as Hinata calls you “senpai” so earnestly. 

“Hello Hinata-kun,” Akaashi says automatically. “Pardon me, but don’t you have medical staff for that? I don’t think I’ll be much help in Tokyo.”

_ Is he okay?  _ Bokuto rarely gets ill, Akaashi can’t remember the last time he had more than a cold.

It’s probably nothing serious—Akaashi feels foolish for being worried, but it hasn’t stopped him before. Still, he feels like this is best left to medical professionals and not hassled manga editors. 

Hinata makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, someone that Akaashi presumes is Miya Atsumu hollering at Bokuto to “SIT DOWN ALREADY.” 

“Bokuto-senpai is being very stubborn,” Hinata sighs. “And we’re in Tokyo for a training camp this weekend, which is why I thought you might be able to help.” 

That’s not a surprise, Bokuto has always been stubborn. But Akaashi is still confused as to why they think he’s going to fix anything. 

“Okay… but why do you think he’ll listen to me?” Akaashi asks. 

“Hmmm. Call it a hunch of ours,” Hinata says, far too casual. 

Akaashi assumes “ours” means that this was a team decision. Interesting. Well, he hasn’t seen Bokuto in too long and since they’re training locally at the moment both for the Black Jackals and for the national team, they can’t be that far away. 

“Text the address to this number and I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he sighs. 

“Thanks Akaashi-senpai, you’re the best!” 

Tenma gives him the flattest look when he hangs up. “You’re leaving me?” 

“Bokuto-san is ill and not even the team medical staff can get him to go rest.” Akaashi can already feel a headache brewing. “They requested I come and get him.” 

The squint Tenma is wearing is scrutinizing, though Akaashi can’t fathom why he deserves that sort of look. “Don’t the Black Jackals train in Osaka?”

“They’re in Tokyo for the weekend, apparently.” 

Tenma squints harder. 

“You can call me as soon as I leave this building and talk until I get to the training center?” Akaashi offers. 

“Hm. Take good care of him,” Tenma waves him off. 

That’s still… odd. If Tenma isn’t careful, he’ll be the next person that Akaashi has to force home to get some rest. The irony of his own eye bags isn’t lost on him either.

Akaashi doesn’t bother to answer, though he pointedly digs his headphones out and sticks them in his ears as he leaves the floor. Sure enough, Tenma’s familiar voice fills his ears as the elevator hits the ground floor. 

It’s strangely soothing, and by the time Akaashi hangs up outside the training center, he realizes that it kept him from stressing about Bokuto. 

“I’m here for Bokuto-san?” he tells the woman working the lobby desk. 

“Ah, you must be Akaashi-san. Please head down that halfway and then make a right, you’ll find the team there.” 

“Thank you.” 

The hallway takes him past several locker rooms, a training room, and a team room before he stops outside what must be their main gym. Practice has apparently ended because when Akaashi pauses in the doorway, he’s greeted by the whole team staring at him.  _ Oh no.  _

The gym itself is intimidating—Akaashi hasn’t set foot in one this big since high school. But it smells like sweat and salonpas and home. 

“‘Kaaashiii,” Bokuto’s whine breaks the awkward silence. He’s wearing a face mask, courtesy of Sakusa most likely, and seated on the bench instead if gathered around the coaches. 

“I’m Akaashi, I’m here for Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, unsure who he’s supposed to be addressing. He stays just outside the gym, knowing better than to step onto the highly polished surface in his business-casual shoes. 

Sakusa himself is as far away as he can get from Bokuto. “About time,” he mutters.

“Don’t be rude, Omi-Omi,” Miya scolds, turning a leer on Akaashi. “This one was Fukurodani’s setter.”

_ Don’t like that, _ Akaashi thinks, despite the brief thrill of pleasure at being recognized as a fellow setter. Miya Atsumu has a reputation for being the feral twin. Miya Osamu, on the other hand, makes onigiri that tastes like it’s been sent from heaven. 

It’s not the first time Akaashi has met the Black Jackals team, but it’s something else to see them in all-business mode. Not intimidating, per se, but it sends a strange sort of shiver through him. 

The Jackals’ athletic trainer and team nurse, who hover nearby, are a harried looking pair who remind Akaashi of the Fukurodani managers.

“Thank you for coming, Akaashi-san,” the team nurse sighs. “Hinata-kun and the team insisted it was a good idea.” 

Hinata’s grin is bright and friendly, but Atsumu’s is shit-eating. Meian, in charge of captaining this bunch of monsters, just lets it happen. Akaashi resents him just a little. 

“It’s no trouble,” Akaashi says formally. 

“Kaashi is nice,” Bokuto hums. 

He doesn’t look so bad to Akaashi from here, but he knows better than to fall for that. After watching Hinata get pulled from Nationals because of a fever, Akaashi became a lot more attentive of his spikers. They’re good at faking if they think it means they can stay on the court. 

Akaashi feels like he’s sixteen again, trying to talk Bokuto down from spiking all night. “Bokuto-san, let’s go home.” 

“Mmkay,” Bokuto says agreeably. 

Everyone in the gym stares at him, Akaashi included. Bokuto has become steadier over the years, but he’s still occasionally prone to fits of stubbornness, which is what Akaashi had prepared himself for this time. 

Hinata recovers first, reaching out a hand to haul Bokuto to his feet. It’s an honest-to-god feat of strength—whatever Hinata was doing in Brazil clearly paid off for him. 

“Go get some rest so we can keep practicing together, Bokuto-senpai,” he says, and the sentiment is echoed by most of the other players. Sakusa just glares.

Akaashi can only wait in the doorway of the gym as Bokuto makes his way over. Meian has a steadying hand on Bokuto’s hip, and Bokuto’s gym bag in the other. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you properly, Akaashi-san,” Meian says as he hands over Bokuto’s gym bag. “Bokuto-san talks a lot about you.” 

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Akaashi tries not to think too hard about the implications of that. 

“Likewise,” Akaashi says politely. “It seems like he keeps you on your toes.” 

Meian laughs good-naturedly, transferring a slightly wobbly Bokuto into Akaashi’s capable hands. “They all do, let’s be honest.” 

“Hi Akaashi,” Bokuto mumbles as he’s handed over. 

Akaashi loops an arm around his waist, concerned that he might actually pass out. “Okay?” 

“Mm good,” is not particularly convincing, but Akaashi thinks they’ll manage. 

“I can be reached at the same number if you need updates,” he tells Meian, who waves him off. 

“We trust you. Thank you, Akaashi-san.” 

A few more polite goodbyes are enough to see them off and out the main doors of the building. Bokuto carries his own weight until they get around the corner and then he slumps, face buried in Akaashi’s neck. 

“Feeling that bad, huh?” Akaashi asks softly, shifting so that he can better support the mass of muscle hanging off of him. Maybe he really should have asked one of them to help him get Bokuto home.

Bokuto's next breath is a soft exhale bordering on a whimper. He’s radiating heat but clinging as if Akaashi is the only source of warmth around. 

“We’ll be there soon,” Akaashi soothes, securing Bokuto a seat on the train that stops near his apartment. 

He doesn’t get an answer—Bokuto just leans against him like he’s a life line. The stairs in his building aren’t fun but they manage. 

After a moment’s consideration Akaashi decides that wrestling Bokuto in and out of the shower is not going to be possible. Instead, he sits Bokuto down on the edge of his bed. Bokuto stares blearily up at him, worn out from the journey.

“Stay put.” 

He fills a glass of water first, leaving it beside the bed while he wets a washcloth in his tiny bathroom. Bokuto hasn’t moved an inch, though his eyes have begun to drift shut.

“Kaashi,” he sighs when Akaashi lifts a hand to the back of his forehead. Still warm, but whatever fever-reducers he’s been given are kicking in. 

“Arms up,” Akaashi instructs, helping Bokuto out of his shirt. 

The washcloth makes several gentle but quick passes over Bokuto’s upper body to wipe away the worst of the sweat, and then Akaashi is pulling a clean shirt back over Bokuto’s head. Bokuto slumps forward then, resting his forehead against Akaashi’s stomach. 

“Kaashi?” 

“Mmmm?”

Bokuto sighs, sounding horribly congested. “Bed?”

It’s barely evening, and while Bokuto’s sleep schedule is probably far healthier than Akaashi’s own, even he doesn’t normally sleep this early. Still, it’s probably best if he does sleep. 

“Sure,” Akaashi agrees, getting Bokuto settled into bed and tucking the covers up to his chin. 

Bokuto blinks balefully up at him, seemingly torn over something. He stews on it while Akaashi fluffs the pillows and makes sure the glass of water is within reach. 

“Akaashi?” he says finally when Akaashi is about to slip out and leave him to sleep. 

“Yes, Bokuto-san?” 

“Stay?”

Akaashi shouldn’t, really. He can’t afford to get sick right now—doesn’t have the time to take off—but he also can’t say no to Bokuto. 

“Okay,” he agrees. “I need to get my tablet though, get comfy while I’m gone.” 

He pulls a mask on for good measure as he scoops up his work tablet, a pair of headphones, and the notebook he keeps every relevant scribble in. Working while Bokuto sleeps should keep him from falling too far behind.

When he returns, Bokuto is already dozing, having trusted that Akaashi would return. 

Bokuto looks soft like this, even with his skin several shades too pale. Akaashi checks his forehead again as he slides into bed, piling his collected items on the bed next to him. Bokuto sniffs and rolls over, settling his head on Akaashi’s thigh. 

Akaashi slides his fingers into Bokuto’s hair and mans the tablet with his other hand. “Good?” he murmurs, just in case Bokuto is actually asleep. 

A long, contented sigh is his answer. Later he’ll wake Bokuto to make sure that he gets food in him, but for now, working with Bokuto sleeping in his lap is more than okay. 

Certainly, it’s not as productive as Akaashi can be, but he thinks Tenma can forgive him on this one. Perhaps Hinata was right, and Akaashi  _ is _ the person meant to take care of Bokuto. 

He hardly dares to hope, but these days, Akaashi is learning. Learning that he’s more important to Bokuto than he could have ever imagined. 

Leaning down, Akaashi presses a feather-light kiss to Bokuto’s forehead. 

Soon. He’ll tell him soon. 

  
  


* 

The 2021 Olympics feel like something out of a dream. 

Akaashi can only go to the preliminary match—he has to work during the second when Japan is set to face off against Argentina. Oikawa’s presence on the opposing roster, however, is not why disappointment sits so heavily in Akaashi’s gut.

But he cheers like crazy anyway as Japan clears the first round. If watching the MSBY vs. Adler match was awe-inspiring, then seeing all of those monsters together on a team should be a religious experience. 

Akaashi waits for Bokuto, shaky hands stuffed in his pockets as disappointment solidifies into resolve. He’s stupid to keep waiting for the right moment to ask Bokuto out. The barrier keeping fans off the court is a rather grating metaphor. 

He won’t do it during the Olympics and risk distracting Bokuto, but afterwards…

“Akaashi!” Bokuto beams, leaning over the barrier to give him a hug that smells like Bokuto’s favorite deodorant and the entirety of high school. “How’d I look out there? I don’t know that red is my color but it was so crazy!” 

“You were incredible,” Akaashi tells him earnestly. “And red suits you very well.” 

“If you say so Akaashi, it must be true,” Bokuto sighs happily. “It’s too bad you can’t make the next game.” 

It is. It’s a damn shame that Akaashi has to be employed and can’t simply spend the rest of his life watching Bokuto play volleyball. Well, actually, he can. He wants to. Even if employment means he has to miss a few games, he wants to spend every second supporting Bokuto. 

“When this is over I want to talk to you about—“ Akaashi starts, and freezes mid sentence as lips press gently against his forehead. 

“I know,” Bokuto says softly, his eyes crinkled into a smile Akaashi wants to see for the rest of his life. 

Akaashi’s expression must be something to behold because Bokuto laughs, kissing the tip of his nose a little sloppily, and then his cheek. 

“Then why—?”

Bokuto shrugs. There’s not a hint of insecurity in his eyes, just contentment. “You’re smart, Akaashi. When you were ready,  _ truly _ ready, I knew you’d say something.” 

This can’t be happening. Akaashi has been waiting  _ years _ to finally confess to Bokuto and Bokuto just does  _ that _ like it’s nothing.

“We’ve kinda already been dating for a while now anyway,” Bokuto continues, clearly not fazed by the mental breakdown Akaashi is having. 

He only truly shuts up when Akaashi covers his mouth with his hand. “We were already dating?” Akaashi’s pretty sure his voice cracks but that’s the last of his worries right now.

Bokuto tilts his head to the side and gives Akaashi a strange look, as if Akaashi is the one not making any sense. Akaashi slowly peels his hand back.

“I mean, we share a bed whenever we stay at each other’s places, we cuddle, you play with my hair, I talk to you more than anyone else,” Bokuto lists off. “We go out for food together, you come support me at my games? I check up on you to make sure you’re not working too hard?” 

_ Holy shit _ . Bokuto is truly the more emotionally aware one between them because yeah, they’ve basically been dating for years without actually ever putting a label on it. Or kissing. Did Akaashi really miss out on kissing Bokuto when he could have been doing it ages ago?

“Bokuto-san.” 

Bokuto blinks at him, eyes wide and earnest. “You know, you can call me Koutarou. I’ve been kinda hoping you would for years.” 

Akaashi’s vision is getting a little misty. “Koutarou,” he rolls the syllables off his tongue like a prayer. “Kiss me?” 

They’re in a stadium full of people and the national team’s uniform paints Bokuto as a buff red target, but he still leans up to place a soft kiss on Akaashi’s mouth. Kisses don’t taste like anything, but if they did this one would taste like perfect sets and soft evenings, with the subtle warmth of unshakeable trust.

Bokuto pulls back then, cupping Akaashi’s cheek with a volleyball-calloused hand. “I love you, Akaashi Keiji.” 

Akaashi sniffs, but it’s hard to keep his nose from running when he’s smiling so hard. They’re both crying, at least a little. 

“I love you too, Koutarou.” 

Hinata is screaming congratulations across the gym and most of Bokuto’s teammates are looking at them now, but that’s okay. This is how it’s meant to be. 

Akaashi grabs a handful of Bokuto’s jersey and leans in, resting their foreheads together. An arm loops around him despite the barrier and yeah—this is what he waited for. 

“Will you date me for real, Keiji?” Bokuto murmurs in his ear.

“How scandalized would people be if we skipped that and just got married,” Akaashi is only half-kidding. 

“Bo-kun, the team is meeting now,” an apologetic looking Iwaizumi Hajime interrupts. 

Bokuto is gaping at Akaashi, who smiles apologetically. “Later,” he promises.

Atsumu, ever a helpful little shit, bodily drags Bokuto away, leaving Akaashi to fully process that somehow, in the last five minutes, he started dating Bokuto Koutarou. Or became aware that he’s been dating Bokuto? 

“You look like you’re going to hurl,” Kuroo cheerfully claps him on the back, nearly startling Akaashi right out of his skin. 

“I love Koutarou,” Akaashi says blankly.

“Yeah, and? We been knew—wait, you didn’t call him Bokuto-san.” Kuroo is staring and Akaashi’s face feels overly hot. 

“We were dating the entire time, and I had no idea.” 

Kuroo starts cackling like a madman and inevitably, Kenma appears. They’re never far apart these days, even with all of Kuroo’s traveling. 

“Congrats, Keiji,” Kenma says, his lips quirking into a small smile.

Kuroo slings his arms around both their shoulders, sniffling dramatically. “I never thought I’d see the day. My little Bo, all grown up and dating.” 

“Keep that up and we won’t go on any double-dates,” Akaashi tells him without heat. 

It’s an empty threat. Double-dates with some of his best friends sounds incredible. 

The grin on Kuroo’s face says it all. “This is gonna be so great.” 

*

Akaashi waits by the locker rooms until the team finishes and showers—thanks to the behind-the-scenes pass Kuroo acquired for him—and by that point the crowd is focused on the next match. . 

“Akaashi-senpai!” Hinata barrels out of the locker rooms first, Kageyama hot on his heels. “Bokuto-senpai will be out soon!”

“You’re so loud, baka,” Kageyama gripes, shutting up when Hinata smacks an enthusiastic kiss on his mouth, grinning wickedly. 

“Not jealous are you, Tobio?” 

“Shouyou—“ 

Akaashi clears his throat. Kageyama turns a disturbing shade of red, but Hinata smiles with pure innocence. 

“Omi-san had to yell at him to take a proper shower, he was trying to rush. Tsumu-Tsumu almost laughed till he puked,” Hinata chirps. He is clearly the devil in disguise.

Kageyama makes eye-contact with Akaashi, nods briskly, and starts dragging Hinata away. “Mind your own business, Sho.” 

“But Tobioooooo,” Hinata whines. 

“I’ll race you to the room,” Kageyama says, and Akaashi doesn’t even have time to blink before they’ve off like they’ve been launched out of a cannon. 

Bokuto emerges not long after, hair still dripping as he sweeps Akaashi into a kiss that temporarily cancels any rational thoughts Akaashi has. 

Akaashi pulls back first—short on air—and leans his forehead against Bokuto’s. “You’re going to catch a cold leaving your hair like that.”

It droops into his face without the trademark spikes, soft and far longer than most people would guess. He’s especially endearing like this, Akaashi thinks. 

Bokuto Koutarou: love of Akaashi’s life, and now his boyfriend. 

“Worth it,” Bokuto grins, and his hair is dripping on Akaashi too but Akaashi couldn’t care less.

Just for good measure, Akaashi kisses him again. Bokuto is all too willing, but they’re forced apart by Atsumu’s obnoxious wolf whistle. 

“As happy as I am for ya, there’s a whole Olympic village for that,” he drawls. Sakusa, only a step behind, pinches his side. 

“Come back to my room with me?” Bokuto says hopefully, as if he can’t even hear Atsumu’s indignant squawking. Maybe he’s just immune after years of sharing a locker with the infamous Sakusa-Atsumu brand of flirting. 

“Yeah,” Akaashi says, a grin breaking out over his face. 

They leave holding hands—fingers so tightly intertwined that Akaashi knows that this is real. This is forever.

He can’t imagine being happier. 

* 

Akaashi watches Japan’s final match over the top of Tenma’s manga drafts, volleyball overwhelming every one of his senses. Both the story he’s lived, and the story Tenma is telling on paper inspire him, but it’s what will be waiting at home for him that makes him who he is today. 

  
Because when he leaves the office tonight and takes the late train back to his tiny apartment, Bokuto will be there. 

Bokuto the Olympian—the pro-league player—the man who’s held Akaashi’s heart so gently in his hands for years already. The man Akaashi is going to very happily spend the rest of his life with. 

They are the protagonists, in their own way, after all. The world has nothing on them. 

*

Bonus: 

“Koutarou, I feel like it’s extremely unfair for me to play with you guys,” Akaashi frowns, eyeing the proposed pick-up teams. 

Whoever caved to Atsumu’s whining and let him have Sakusa on his team was a complete idiot. Akaashi wants nothing to do with the wicked spin on those spikes, much less deal with his serves. Add those to Atsumu’s serves, and you get a recipe for all out destruction.

“But I want you to set for me, Keiji,” Bokuto whines. “It’s been so long.” 

“And since then, you’ve had Kageyama and Atsumu-san setting for you. I am nowhere near their level, especially since I haven’t played properly in years,” Akaashi reminds him dryly. 

The crew before him is a hodge-podge assortment of Black Jackals and the occasional bonus significant other. It’s lucky that Kageyama couldn’t make it today, because dealing with him and Atsumu trying to one-up each other all day would have killed the fun. 

“You set to me the best,” Bokuto says stubbornly. “That’s why your sets are my favorite.” 

Akaashi feels a drop of sweat roll down the back of his neck as Atsumu glares holes into the side of his head.

“Let’s just… get started then.” 

The other team serves first—and despite the fact that it’s just a game for fun—Akaashi feels the familiar hum of game-day nerves in his gut. 

He’s been working out more again these days because of Bokuto, so getting underneath the first ball that goes up isn’t as much of a strain as it could be. Meian, ever the reliable teammate, slams it across the net. It’s not a perfect set since Akaashi doesn’t know his preferences well, but it’s not bad. 

  
Bokuto practically vibrates with excitement to his right. 

They have to endure a fairly long rally before Akaashi truly gets the chance to set for Bokuto and  _ oh _ … he never did forget exactly where Bokuto likes his sets placed. 

Bokuto scores the kill, beaming so hard it hurts to look at before his feet even touch the ground. “YES KEIJI! THAT’S MY HUSBAND!”

“Oh my god we know,” Atsumu complains, though he looks at Akaashi with begrudging respect. Hinata, bless him, cheers.

Akaashi smiles fiercely. 

A setter and his ace are an unbreakable pair, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> heya! you can find me on twitter @carry_a_world or tumblr @carry-a-world, I'm always happy to chat <3 I hope you all are staying safe and sane, it took me a billion years to write this because grad school and work are keeping me on my toes, but I hope it brings y'all a little happiness. 
> 
> Also it's midnight and I'm posting this on a whim so if you see edits, it's Kris of tomorrow finding and fixing typos RIP.


End file.
